


Electrical Impulses

by manloverules_ok



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manloverules_ok/pseuds/manloverules_ok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their meetings happen like lightning - they never strike in the same place twice, and when they come together they are one of the most powerful forces on planet earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electrical Impulses

The atmosphere within the car is almost palpable, filled with the slight buzzing of what they both know is about to happen. The drive from Dunsfold to West London is a familiar one – they could both make the drive with their eyes closed, knowing when to turn, when to slow down due to speed cameras, and when their journey is about to end. 

Tonight seems different. They barely speak to one another, the radio the only white noise cutting through the charged silence. Perhaps because it’s been a while since their last excursion – they’re both nervous, as if it’s the first time this is about to happen. 

Jeremy drives like a stabbed rat on the darkened A-roads. Every once in a while he sneaks a look over to James in the passenger seat, looking out the window. He wishes he could know exactly what the man is thinking, but he has a clue of what the general thoughts are – they probably mirror his own. 

James counts exactly seventy-two days since the last time this happened. It was a hot, sticky day in the middle of July when Jeremy had wrapped his arm around his waist in the portakabin and whispered in his ear, “My place or yours tonight?” And he had known in that moment that it wasn’t an invitation for dinner and a movie – he had known exactly what type of invitation it was. And now here he is again. 

It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy these evenings – he does, oh how he does. But he wonders if he’s looking forward to them more and more every time they happen. He’s worried that they wouldn’t happen again, and it scares him that he’s looked forward to these evenings that much. When they first began, almost eight months ago now, they happened with an almost alarming frequency. At least once a fortnight, if not once a week. He wouldn’t be surprised to get a text message in the middle of the night – ‘You awake?’

He looks out the window and watches as the darkened landscape zips past, and every so often he feels Jeremy’s gaze upon him – more so as they get closer and closer to Hammersmith. James can feel the heat radiating in waves off of Jeremy’s body as he changes gear. He’s suffocating. A touch of a button and he cracks the window and lets the cool autumnal air wash over him as he notices his neighbourhood coming into view. 

Jeremy wishes he would say something. Anything. All James does is stare out the window, watching as the road passes them by. It’s infuriating. He presses a button and the cool air stops streaming into the Mercedes.

“It’s bloody freezing,” Jeremy mutters. 

James feels his fingers digging into his thighs in order to stop from smacking the man in the driver’s seat. He begins mentally count to calm himself. By the time Jeremy parks in front of his house, he’s reached 542. 

When Jeremy pulls up to the kerb outside of James’s house, he’s not sure whether or not he’ll even be let in. If James will just slam the door in his face and he’ll be forced to go back to his flat and have an unsatisfactory wank instead of having James. But when James unlocks the door and holds it open for him, he can’t help the grin that slides onto his face like the cat that got the cream. 

He toes off his grey loafers on the mat and hangs his jacket on the banister. James hates when he leaves his jacket on the banister. James unties his sneakers and puts them in their proper place, and shoves the sleeves of his grey woollen jumper up his arms, revealing the tanned skin of his forearms.

Before James can even think to ask, ‘So, curry or pizza?’ Jeremy has shoved him against the wall, pinning him as Jeremy’s face comes closer and closer into view in the half-light of the room. He can feel Jeremy’s warm breath bearing down on him, feels his fist curl into the warm fabric of his jumper, feels himself growing hard just at the sight, the smell of Jeremy so close to him. How could he have thought for a microsecond that he could ever say no to this?

And then, when Jeremy finally captures his lips with his, feels that warm mouth open above him as they slowly melt together, James knows, deep down, as much as he might try to fight it, he’ll never say no to this. But before Jeremy can find comfort in being the one in control, James counters, and throws his all of his remaining strength into shoving Jeremy against the banister, pleased with the painful groan that escapes his reddened lips.

“I thought I told you never to hang your coat there, Clarkson,” James growls. 

He wipes the look of surprise off of Jeremy’s face by grabbing a fistful of that blue and white chequered shirt and draws Jeremy into him, his left hand carding through those grey curls at the back of his head to bring him down an inch, so James can take exactly what he wants. Their lips crash together, James not afraid to nip at the lips he’s been thinking about for seventy-one days too long. He feels Jeremy’s left arm slide around his waist, as his right hand goes straight to the hardening bulge at the front of his jeans. He tries to bite back the groan that bubbles up from the pit of his stomach, but he can’t, and he feels Jeremy smirk against his lips. 

James pushes him away, watching as that surprised look washes over his face again before the steely reserve takes over once more. 

“Upstairs. Now.” 

Jeremy’s not the type to follow orders. He’s never been the type to follow orders, if he’s honest. But when James tells him to get upstairs in that gruff voice that goes straight to his cock, he can’t help but obey. He marches up the stairs and a shiver runs down his spine in anticipation of what could happen. Has James planned this all out? Is he just a pawn in this fucked up game of chess they’re playing? Or is this all off the top of his head? Jeremy can’t decide what’s turning him on more – the fact that James _would_ plan something like this out down to the miniscule details or the fact that James could actually be spontaneous for once in their lives. 

As he follows Jeremy into his bedroom, James realises this is actually happening again. And for once, he’s in control. He can’t let Jeremy have the upper hand again. Not tonight. If he thought the atmosphere in the car was charged, then his bedroom is a thundercloud, just waiting for the final spark to set everything in motion. 

Jeremy turns to face him. He knows he’s going to open that fat gob of his. He doesn’t want to hear anything that Jeremy might say right now – good or bad. And James knows of one sure fire way to make sure that mouth doesn’t say anything he doesn’t want to hear. 

He curls his hand into the well-worn cotton of Jeremy’s shirt and drags him right into his personal space, bringing those lips as close as he can, warm breath ghosting across his face before they connect. Jeremy’s hand slithers underneath his jumper. The warmth of his palm makes James shiver, the soft skin of his belly breaking out in gooseflesh. He feels Jeremy smile above him and automatically wants to wipe that smile off his face. Jeremy slides his other hand under his jumper and James allows him to take it off, grimacing slightly as it’s tossed across the room. 

But James has a plan. 

Hands smooth over the crumpled front of Jeremy’s shirt before they move to the top of his shoulders. He keeps the pressure light at first, only hinting that he wants Jeremy to start falling to his knees. 

The least subtle man in the world doesn’t get the idea. James decides to persuade him further, perhaps a little more forcefully.

“On your knees, Clarkson,” he nearly growls, practically shoving the man to his knees. 

The crackling of the older man’s joints echoes throughout the room. A groan escapes his lips, pain in his knees flaring, the plush carpet not comforting his ancient bones. James sees the excitement in those grey-blue eyes that stare up at him. And that makes his cock even harder as it strains uncomfortably against the tight denim of his jeans. 

“Let’s put that big mouth of yours to good use, shall we?” James asks as his fingers move to finally unbutton his jeans, before Jeremy’s fingers cover his, silently insisting. 

The warmth of Jeremy’s hand so close to his cock sends shivers down his spine, arousal sparking through him as he watches Jeremy’s tongue poke out of his mouth, wetting his lips. Jeremy’s hot breath comes in pants against the bulge of his jeans and James has to ball his hands into fists, his short fingernails cutting crescents into his palms to keep from coming right then and there. 

He hadn’t thought he’d missed this contact this much. He almost relinquishes control of the situation right then and there as Jeremy undoes his flies, pushing his jeans and pants to the floor. But when Jeremy bites the soft flesh where his hip meets belly, James knows he has to regain command before Jeremy has him right where he wants him. This has happened too many times: James taking charge before Jeremy somehow pulls the rug out from underneath him once again. 

His fingers wind through the curls at the back of Jeremy’s head, the pads of his fingers massaging his scalp slightly, a smile lighting up Jeremy’s face as he looks up at him. Tiny bites peppered across his hipbone jolts him back into the moment – he yanks Jeremy’s head back and growls once again.

“Suck, Clarkson, until I say you’re finished.”

Jeremy knows how to use that mouth of his, especially when he’s encouraged. His tongue licks a stripe down the length of James’s cock as his long fingers wrap around the base, holding firmly. When Jeremy finally wraps his lips around the head of his cock and laps his tongue against his slit, James can’t help the sound he makes. It’s been a long ten weeks of only having his hand to wank with while the fading memories of fucking Jeremy play in his mind. And finally having the real thing here, on his knees in front of him? He has to concentrate on not coming into the heat of Jeremy’s mouth at that very moment. 

The bobbing of Jeremy’s head begins slowly and then builds into a one-two rhythm that drives James to the edge. Jeremy’s left hand sneaks its way to James’s arse, kneading and massaging before a finger slips between and begins circling his entrance. James tries to ignore the sparks of pleasure that build within him and slaps his hand away. 

“That’s enough. Get up.”

James looks at Jeremy’s reddened lips, saliva slick and pouting in that typical Clarkson fashion when the man doesn’t get his way for once in 53 years. He watches as Jeremy rises to his feet once again, the crackling of his knees even louder than before. 

“Strip.”

The command comes easily to him as Jeremy is still full clothed; he knows that it’ll be a relief to him to get his cock out of the confined space of those already too-tight jeans. He enjoys the show that Jeremy puts on for him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he tries too quickly to shuck off the button-down. After he gets the first three undone he throws caution to the wind and pulls the shirt over his head, James enjoying watching the long lines of his torso twist and squirm, his arms getting caught for a moment before he wiggles out of the cotton contraption. His jeans are an easier affair as he kicks them off his long legs, not caring how inside-out they become as he steps out of them, throwing them across the room with his shirt. 

“Up against the wall.”

James sheds his jumper as he watches Jeremy walk to the empty patch of wall next to his bed and leans against it, his arms crossed, blue eyes staring straight into him, right foot propped back against the wall – Jeremy’s attempt to be sexy, like he’s a rent boy waiting for him in a disgusting alleyway behind James’s local. He thinks of the possibilities of role-playing that out one day, and feels the urge to fuck Jeremy build tenfold within him. 

“Not that way, you berk, turn around.”

He can’t help but take a moment to take in the sight before him: a stark naked Jeremy Clarkson. His eyes rake from the back of his curly head, down the broad, speckled shoulders, to the slim hips, and then to that arse. The arse he can’t help but think about grabbing, despite who may be around. The man may claim he has no fashion sense, but he always seems to know which jeans flatter and hug that arse in just the right ways. He braces himself against the wall with his arms – James looks at how slack the muscles are in his biceps and triceps, not working to keep himself upright, and James knows he wants to change that, wants to see the muscles in Jeremy’s arms working to keep him against the wall, wants to see him fighting to keep himself standing as James slams into him. 

A quick reach into his bedside table procures the lube and a condom. The condom stays on top of the table as he flicks open the top of the lube and squeezes some onto his fingers. Tonight, he doesn’t decide to warm it up with the heat of his hands as he might usually do, just spreads it around his fingers quickly before standing as close as he possibly can behind Jeremy without any contact. 

The first touch is light – an index finger sliding slickly down the ridge of his spine, lower, lower, lower until it hits the crease of that lovely arse, Jeremy shivering from the cold contact. Then, he presses harder as his finger finds his entrance, circling, circling, circling, until the digit finally presses in. James could take his time in preparing Jeremy, bring him to the very edge, then back him off again, take him to the brink, pleasure crackling within his entire body, then wean him off of it, but frankly, James wants to come. 

One finger, then two, opening him up, and then more lube to make the slide of three fingers easier. It’s been seventy-two days, James remembers, and even longer since he’s properly fucked Jeremy. 

He rips the condom packet open with his teeth, slick right hand useless to open anything at this moment, and rolls it on before fisting himself one, two, three times. He lines himself up with Jeremy’s entrance, pressing in as slowly as he possibly can, watching the muscle of Jeremy’s hole open and stretch around his cock. Sinking into the slick heat, he has to take a few breaths to calm himself enough as he buries himself to the hilt. He hears a groan from Jeremy and waits five, ten, fifteen seconds before pulling out at an excruciatingly slow pace. 

James knows how Jeremy hates slow fucks. He takes hold of those slim hips before him and slams into Jeremy, curses floating in the humid air. His eyes can’t help but wander to his arms, wondering if the muscles are working overtime as he puts as much power as he can behind his thrusts – watches as Jeremy’s arms shake with tension, trying to hold himself up against the wall. 

He knows it won’t take long before he comes. He’s been waiting for this for so long that even when it’s right before him, happening in this very moment, he can’t last. Determined to make Jeremy come before him, he wraps his hand around his cock, pumping in opposite rhythm of the roll of his hips, a teasing staccato rhythm that somehow gets the job done, Jeremy coming over his fist and onto the carpet, narrowly missing the wall. 

The contracting heat of fucking Jeremy is too much to bear, and with a few more pumps of his hips James is coming inside him with a groan. His arms reach around and hug Jeremy from behind as he stares at his shoulders, placing a kiss in between his shoulder blades. He can’t help but stare at the freckles staring back at him, wants to connect those dots with his tongue sometime, tracing invisible pictures upon the pale skin. 

He pulls out of Jeremy as slowly and carefully as he can, before taking off the condom and throwing it in the bin. Jeremy turns around to face him and finds a smile on his face before he finds himself being hugged – a quick kiss pressed to his lips. 

“Thank you,” Jeremy whispers in his ear before they both let go of one another. 

James undoes the sheets and duvet on the bed and turns off the lights as Jeremy slips into the bathroom. He’s just made himself comfortable underneath the covers when he feels the weight sink on the other side of the bed, feels the body heat from Jeremy warm up the otherwise cold sheets, feels long arms reach out for him. It’s not long before James feels himself drift off into a dreamless sleep. 

When James wakes, it could be twenty minutes, three hours, or a day after he fell asleep – he can’t see the glow of his alarm clock behind him. What he can see is the creamy planes of Jeremy’s back as he sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor, trying to see where his clothes have ended up in the dark. 

James knows the next time he wakes Jeremy will be gone. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that the other side of his bed will be cold within minutes. 

But he also knows that it won’t be another seventy-two days before the tension between them comes to a fever pitch. He’ll have Jeremy to himself sooner rather than later – they cannot deny these impulses.


End file.
